


touch me with a hand like god's

by peachyteabuck



Series: commissioned works [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Forced Marriage, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Threesomes, Vampires, Verbal Humiliation, voyuerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 17:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21257120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: commission for @domromanoff (on tumblr), who asked for “dom!carolnat x sub!reader with verbal humiliation and orgasm denial.”





	touch me with a hand like god's

You’re soaked, thin dress doing nothing to protect you from the heavy rain. “Storm” seems like a deadly understatement, lightning and thunder cracking as you run through the thick forest. In another body you’d feel the pain in your feet, the sharp ends of broken branches biting at your legs and arms.

Each scream of a wolf in the distance drives you forward, the closer they come the more desperate you become. You hope the rain will wash away your scent in the dirt, but even as you slip in the deepest mud puddle you’ve ever seen, you know no amount of holy water could purify the earth you stepped in.

The large stone castle, the one legends of the town had all originated from, seems to be your only place of refuge; your only choice for salvation. You try to avoid stepping on the broken handmade crosses the townspeople had placed on the parts of the lawn not blocked by a large, metal gate. The lock had been broken for years – ever since you were a child – but only now do you have the blind courage to push yourself through.

The knocker on the door – just as large and dramatic as the rest of the house – thuds against the door like a crow flying into a closed window.

A woman with blood-red hair and pale skin opens the door, dressed in a thick cloak that looks almost as warm as the large fire burning in the hearth in the living room behind her. Your teeth clack together as you try to speak – as you try to tell her about your husband and how he grabbed you and how he never loved you and will never will. Nothing comes out – though nothing needs to, because the woman has pulled you into her home and has you wrapped in the thickest blanket on this side of the globe before you could merely say _hello._

It’s not until your body has stopped shaking – pile of discarded towels on the other side of the room, that you realize you realize you’re sitting on a bed. Not just any bed, because no. It has to be _her_ bed.

The woman – _Natasha, _you’ve learned – touts your worries as if she can read your thoughts. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Carol will understand.”

You sit there and talk with her, carefully avoiding the topic of her wife and your bastard husband. In the midst of a story about your childhood pets, Natasha’s lips meet yours with fervor.

She kisses down your jaw and neck, pushing the thick cardigan she’d given you aside to nip at your collarbones and between your breasts. Her perfect teeth leave deep, artful bruises on your skin, drawing low hisses as she licks over each nipple – leaving them hot and swollen and _used_. You grip at her thick hair, delicious pain making her moan against you. It’s hot, wet, loud, nothing like your nights with the man forced to be your spouse. Somewhere between you moaning her name and the scrape of teeth against lips she slips a hand between your thighs, touching where it’s wet and waiting.

You gasp, rolling your hips.

“There you go,” Natasha whispers. “Such a thing deserves pleasure.”

“Are you _sure?”_

The other voice, the voice from a person you didn’t know until that moment had been watching you, startles you. Natasha just smiles and curls two fingers into you, smiling as your eyes roll back and a choked moan fills the room. “I’m sure.”

Carol – the _spouse_ of the woman whose fingers are currently inside of you - scoffs, rolling her eyes as she undoes her own wrap of furs. Underneath she’s dressed in a similar nightgown to the one Natasha’s dress in, only a deep envy green. You can only whimper as Natasha crooks her fingers _just so_, your whole body shaking and knuckles finding anything to hold on to. The tightening in your abdomen, the desperation in your chest, it all cries in pain when you’re ripped from Natasha’s arms. You feel like a featherless bird forced to leave the nest too early, falling to the cold, wooden floor with a strangled cry.

“She comes here, asking for our help,” Carol hisses as she takes the place on the bed next to her wife. “And then tries to break the rules?”

You whimper as her face presses closer to yours with every word. Still, as fear prickles at your skin, the place between your legs gets impossibly wetter.

You watch as she steps closer, bare feet hitting the ground without sound. You tremble as she points her foot and turns you flat on your back.

“What is it princess,” she purrs with faux-sympathy. “Whatever could you want?”

You try swallow the dryness in your mouth but fail. Your eyes are stuck on the thick onyx secured between her legs with an equally opaque leather strap, only revealed as she sheds the green onto the floor.

“I- “

Carol rolls her eyes. “I, what?”

Natasha finishes for you. “She wants you to fuck her, dear.”

With the roll of her eyes, Carol grabs you and throws you onto the bed – _just _far enough that you’re thrust into Natasha’s grasp.

She’s pleased with this, and gathers your wild hair behind your head, gazing into your glazed-over eyes. “You ready for her cock, baby?”

All you can do is nod, whimpering as Carol slaps your sensitive pussy.

“Don’t coo at her like that,” she hisses as she lines herself up to your entrance. “Sluts don’t deserve to get _cooed at_.”

Natasha doesn’t have time for a quip, your screams interrupting any one-liner as Carol bottoms out in one thrust.

It’s too much_, too much_, and soon you’re babbling nonsense and reaching for something_, anything_.

“What do you want, baby?” Natasha asks.

Your mouth can barely form words. “Please, _please_ kiss me while she fucks me.”

Natasha looks to Carol, who nods. “She can’t cum, but I guess it’s okay if you shut her up.”

Natasha leans over to kiss you and Carol fucks into with this pace you’re sure will leave bruises. The woman over you swallows your moans with her perfect lips – smiling as you scream and thrash and fuck yourself onto the phallic crystal.

“I’m gonna come,” you moan, breathy and low. “You’re gonna make me come, please _don’t stop.”_

It’s _painful_ when Carol stops moving, stops rubbing at your clit, stops _everything_ just to hear you sob and babble and watch you desperately move your hips against her.

It’s worse when she pulls out completely, smacking your cunt one more time before flipping you over and pulling you to her so that her breasts press into your back.

“You’re gonna watch my pretty wife get herself off while I fuck you, alright slut?” she hisses. You nod, pressing your ass into her hips – earning yourself another slap to your sensitive, dripping pussy. “And you don’t get to come until _she_ does.”

All you can do is cry “_yesyesyesyesyes”_ as your face is pressed into the mattress and she fucks you once again. It’s too much, _too_ _much_, as you hear Natasha get herself off with her fingers and Carol moans and calls you every filthy thing her heart desires and you’re just _stuck there_ sobbing from the pleasure into the otherworldly soft sheets.

So when you orgasm around the onyx cock, it’s not a surprise to you. It _is_, though, to Carol, who pulls you back up by your hair.

“Did you just cum?”

You nod, bottom lip in a pout as a pull for mercy.

It doesn’t work.

“Do you know what happens to filthy cunts who don’t follow orders?”

You shake your head. But even as you shake, and Carol grips your hip with her other hand so hard you’re convinced she’ll _break_ you, heat floods to your center – _you can’t wait to find out._


End file.
